


Also Known As

by aguantare



Series: Sin Fronteras [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Friendship, M/M, slashy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9664352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguantare/pseuds/aguantare
Summary: James, a voice cuts into his thoughts while he’s on a smoke break at work. He glances over, and his companion raises an uncertain eyebrow.That’s your name, right? You’re the new guy?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Can't write about what's actually happening in my world right now--it just hurts too much, and it's only just started. I guess this fic is kind of a way of self-soothing. 
> 
> Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me.

_Malparido_ , his father calls him. It’s James’ overriding memory of his only living parent. He can’t remember his father ever calling him by his given name. Two months after his mom dies, his dad gets a new girlfriend, moves her and her kids into the house, and within two weeks, they’re parroting his dad. By the time they’re old enough to know what it means, they’ve taken the appellation to heart.

_Hijo de puta_ , the coyote barks, threatens to leave him behind if he can’t keep up. James is 15 years old and half-delirious under the hot summer sun. Everyone’s water ran out a few hours ago, but they have no choice except to keep walking. James doesn’t remember much about the rest of the journey to the border, only that, somehow, he makes it. 

_Boy_ , the border patrol agent snaps at him followed by a string of words in English that James doesn’t understand. He shakes his head instinctively, and the officer slaps him so hard his ears ring. 

_Respondent_ , the immigration judge says. _Respondent is present in court. Will the respondent please stand?_ James doesn’t even understand that she’s talking about him, to him, until the interpreter prompts him, tells him to stand up.

_Wetback_ , a classmate calls him, in English, and then in Spanish, just to make sure he gets it. James lurches to his feet, takes a swing at him in the middle of the high school cafeteria. Lands a couple solid punches before a teacher hauls him off. 

_Rodriguez_ , his soccer coach sighs after James’ third fight in as many weeks. James can’t look at him. He knows already, hears everything unsaid in that sigh. He’s a disappointment. A troublemaker. A waste of talent. _Why can’t you just take the high road? Walk away? Tell a teacher?_ James doesn’t know how to explain it, that the one thing he’s learned over the years is that if he doesn’t fight for himself, no one else will.

_James_ , a voice cuts into his thoughts while he’s on a smoke break at work. He glances over, and his companion raises an uncertain eyebrow. _That’s your name, right? You’re the new guy?_ James nods. His companion introduces himself as Neymar, asks him for a light. They smoke together in silence and head back in when break is over.

_Bro_ , Neymar calls over to him a few days later when the break bell rings. Holds up a cigarette pack in question. James hesitates, then gives him a thumbs up, follows his coworker out to the loading dock. They light up their respective cigarettes, and Neymar asks James where he’s from, how long he’s been in the U.S. James doesn’t know why he’s asking, answers him with short, clipped responses. 

_Parce_ , Neymar shouts across the factory floor about a week later. James looks up in surprise, the distinctly Colombian slang catching him off guard, pulling at strings of memory and familiarity he’s worked hard to bury. Neymar grins, looking triumphant for some reason, and James can’t help smiling a little as he turns back to his work. 

_Amigo_. It takes James a few seconds to realize whoever’s talking is talking to him. He looks up and Neymar’s standing in front of him outside the factory, watching him with a slight furrow in his brow. He breaks into a smile when he sees that he’s got James’ attention, tells him to get off his ass and come to dinner with a group of their coworkers. 

_Good guy_ , he hears Neymar say in response to a friend’s question about James several months later. James is ostensibly asleep, stretched out on the sofa in Neymar’s living room after a few post-work beers on a Friday evening, but the quiet conversation woke him up. _Good guy_ , Neymar repeats. _Hard worker_. 

Pause. 

_Lonely, though_ , Neymar adds, so quietly that James almost misses it, _Seems like he needs a friend_. 

James breathes deep over the sudden tightness in his chest. He’s been called a lot of things in his twenty-five years, but none so painfully accurate as that. 

The conversation drifts off, and James does too. 

When he wakes up, he’s comfortably warm, courtesy of a blanket draped over him that wasn’t there when he fell asleep. He rolls over onto his side, pulls the blanket up around his shoulders. Lonely, yes, he thinks, closing his eyes again. 

But maybe not so alone.

**Author's Note:**

>  _malparido_ : bastard  
>  _hijo de puta_ : son of a bitch  
>  _parce_ : Colombian slang for bro, dude, friend  
>  _amigo_ : friend


End file.
